


Nine Percent

by GeorgeFredSlytherin



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV), The Umbrella Academy (TV) RPF
Genre: Gen, no incest!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-17 01:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgeFredSlytherin/pseuds/GeorgeFredSlytherin
Summary: Five isn't a threat. After all, the apocalypse always happens.





	Nine Percent

**Author's Note:**

> Umbrella Academy is not mine, nor are the few quotes that I think are maybe correct.

Audrey Orewiler  
Nine Percent

The Handler has just finished a recruitment when her new assistant brings her the case. She looks up to find the girl fidgeting in the doorway, a brand-new case file in her hands. The Handler beckons her in and takes another bite of her sandwich. When the young woman, Bridget? She’s pretty sure her name is Bridget, doesn’t explain she lets out a muffled, “What?” around her food.

“Um… It’s just that… I was told to report to you if someone was getting close to changing an important event?” The Handler waits, staring at the girl over her sandwich – lovely, lovely sandwich! “And you said that anything above ten percent was pretty high, right? So…” She holds out the case file and The Handler wipes off her fingers and grabs it. She flips it open, and then smiles.

“Number Five? I must have forgotten to tell you about him. He used to work here, a long time ago.” 

When was the last time someone had even brought Five up to her? It had been years.

“He defected to try to stop the apocalypse. We stopped trying to get in his way a long time ago. Fate and all that. The apocalypse always happens.” She takes another quick bite of her sandwich and then adds, “His average is about forty-two percent, but don’t worry if he gets any higher.” The girl still looks doubtful. “We try to create a continuous timeline Bridget darling. Number Five is now a constant in that timeline. A constant failure.”

Bridget gives a slightly nervous smile and leaves.

Once Bridget has been at the commission for a while, it becomes obvious that she isn’t as shy as she first seemed. She’s outgoing and kind. She gets things done and works hard, even taking initiative to start things that no one has asked her to do. The Handler isn’t surprised when the girl comes straight to her one morning, instead of one of her direct superiors. She is surprised by the nervous look on Bridget’s face as the girl fidgets with a recent report.

“I know you told me not to worry about Agent Five, Ma’am,” she blurts out, “But I just couldn’t help it. He keeps coming up on my screen because of how far he’s going, and I can’t figure out how to turn the filter off and this morning he got to fifty-two percent. Fifty-two percent! He’s more than half-way to stopping the apocalypse! I-“

“I’m going to stop you right there. Take a seat Bridget.” The girl sits down on the other side of The Handler’s desk. “I like you,” The Handler says. “I’m not going to get rid of you so soon, which is why I tried to explain this to you. I’ll try again. Try to listen this time. Number Five has been trying to stop the apocalypse for years. Every time he fails, he goes back to a different point in his timeline and starts again. The first – four? – I think it was four, times that he tried, we attempted to stop him. The fifth, we were too late, and fate stepped in, which is when we stepped back. The apocalypse ALWAYS happens. 

“I have always had a vested interested in Number Five,” she continues. “I was the one who recruited him to the Commission. I believed for many years that he was dangerous. That we should keep watching him, but he kept failing and failing and failing… Do you know how many times Number Five has allowed the apocalypse to happen, or even caused it? No? I don’t know either. He’s not a danger, Bridget dear.”

Bridget frowns. The Handler stays quiet, waiting for her to digest the information, but eventually, she says, “You’re clearly trying to figure out how to say something. Spit it out dear, I have work to do.

“I did some research,” Bridget says, “And the closest Mr. Five has ever gotten is fifty-nine percent. I would like permission to begin updating you if, at any point, Number Five reaches sixty percent or higher.”

“That won’t happen,” The Handler says. Bridget doesn’t move. Normally, The Handler wouldn’t cave, but she has an appointment with a new recruit, and she needs to finish up before lunch is over. She gives in. “Fine,” she says. “Sixty percent. Get out of my office.” Bridget hurries out the door.

Six days later, The Handler finds a message on her desk with just the words, “Sixty-two percent,” written on it. She tosses it in the garbage. Should she order from Domino’s or Pizza Hut?

After that, the messages start flowing in daily. Every time Five moves a percent, forward or backward, she gets a message. She starts using the papers as tissues. Otherwise, they’re just a waste in her trashcan. She doesn’t look at the numbers.

Bridget has officially become simultaneously the most annoying and best assistant in the Commission. The girl can do ANYTHING in a half-hour, and she’ll do it well. Meanwhile, she still manages to keep her “apocalypse project” going. The Handler has had to empty her waste basket six times this week, but now she has a break.

It has been six months, which means the new assistants are now allowed to learn how to do certain computer projects that previously they were barred from. Bridget, The Handler knows, is in the main stadium, working on a project of minor significance. All The Handler has to do is NOT GO THROUGH THERE, and she’ll be fine.

Not that she’s hiding. She just really doesn’t like the kid.

And then she finds out that the one person she has to talk to, Anthony Thomas, is the one teaching Bridget’s class. The Handler rarely does things she doesn’t want to do. Now, she drags her feet as she heads to the auditorium. She’s pretty sure her heels are scratching the ground. Normally, she would waltz into a room, especially one filled with recruits, interns and assistants. Today, she feels like slinking in, but she’s THE HANDLER, so she doesn’t. She straightens her back, smooths her skirt and walks in like today is just as any other, completely normal. She passes Bridget on the way in without any trouble and has a quick conversation with Dr. Thomas. It’s on the way out that things go south.

She has to walk directly past Bridget to get out again. As she’s sliding past, she sees Bridget’s eyes go wide. Suddenly her head turns and she looks at the woman beside her. She doesn’t even seem surprised that The Handler is there. “Seventy-nine percent,” she says.

It takes The Handler three seconds to fully comprehend what she had just said. “What?” she hisses, and Bridget nods hurriedly. 

“Seventy-nine percent,” she says again, and then, “I’m going to open live feed.”

“No-” The Handler says, but it is too late. Bridget hits a series of keys and several cameras watching Number Five and the Hargreeves activate, jumping to the auditorium screens. The Hargreeves family is sitting in their living room. From the looks of it, Five has just jumped through time from somewhere or other. He’s seated –very deliberately she’s sure – across from Vanya, with the rest of their siblings scattered around them. Number Five’s voice fills The Handler’s ears for the first time in years.

“The end of the world is in eight days.” There’s silence in the room as his siblings adjust to this fact and then the junkie one mutters a quick, ‘finally,’ under his breath. Five throws him an irritated – no, is that concerned? – look and then turns back to the rest of his family.

“How do you know?” The tall black girl asks. Five’s laugh is loud and harsh. The Handler sees the boy dressed in leather flinch back, surprise flooding his face.

“I’ve lived it,” Five says. He holds up his hand to stop the flow of questions. “I’ve lived the apocalypse to try and stop it. It doesn’t matter – “Out of the corner of her eye The Handler sees the percentage tick down to seventy-seven percent, but then Number Five pauses. “It does matter. Give me a minute, and I’ll explain.” A gasp goes through the room as the counter rises to eighty-four percent.

Number Five takes a deep breath and starts. “When I was fifteen, I left you all and jumped into the apocalypse. I was there for forty years, and then spent some time as a time travelling assassin so I could get back to you. - I know it sounds insane, please, just let me talk. The first time I jumped back to stop the apocalypse, I ended up eight days before the world was going to end, and I tried to stop it. I failed.”

“This isn’t the first time?” Vanya asks, and Five shakes his head.

“I’ve been fighting to stop the apocalypse for years.”

“How long?” Asks the enormous man in the corner.

Number Five hesitates and then, “I don’t know.”

“But you failed?” Vanya asks. Number Five gives a slight nod. “Did you at least find out what was causing it?” 

Number Five actually looks nervous as he nods again. The Handler looks over at the percentage. It’s still at eighty-four percent, and she can’t fathom why. What could Number Five possibly do to change the result that always came?

“What was it?” Vanya asks, and The Handler freezes. He couldn’t. His plan couldn’t possibly be to – that was suicide!

And then Number Five speaks. “You,” he says. Two rooms freeze. The Hargreeves stare at their brother for a long moment. The entire auditorium turns to look at the percentage counter, waiting for it to fall to zero, waiting for Vanya to erupt and end the world right then and there. 

The counter clicks to eighty-five percent.

On screen, Vanya says shakily, “Wh-What?”

“Van,” Five says, “You have to promise not to freak out, ok?” The older – looking – girl nods and Five begins. “You have powers,” he says - and wasn’t that rather abrupt? Number Five gives Vanya a quiet sad smile and answers the unasked question on her face. “Dad did it. Your meds, remember? They’re not for anxiety. They dull your emotions. They dull your powers.” Vanya stares.

“But I would remember,” she protests, latching onto anything that might make this untrue.

Number Five doesn’t look at the prettier girl when he says her name. Instead, he raises a hand in her direction as she gasps. “Quiet Allison,” he snaps as the girl opens her mouth. Allison stays quiet. The percent counter clicks to eighty-seven.

Number Five looks at Vanya for a long moment before he says, “Dad did that too.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Vanya says, and she’s getting angry now. “Dad can’t take away memories. Dad didn’t have powers. None of this makes any sense, Five!”

Five puts out a calming hand and says, “Please, Vanya.” She quiets. The Handler waits. This is the part where Vanya snapped the very first time. When she had found out about Allison’s involvement in her memory loss. The counter may be at eighty-eight percent now, but in just a moment, it would drop back down to zero. Five can’t say this next part without snapping any thin vestige of hope he has. She waits for the inevitable, for Number Five to mention Allison.

“You remember when we were kids and Dad called us all in for training, but he only called Ben out onto the training floor?” The Handler raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Number Five is just putting off the inevitable now. Vanya nods. “So Dad pulled Ben out on the floor and just pulled this other guy out of nowhere and told Ben to kill him with the tentacles, right?” Another hesitant nod. “And Ben did it. Because it was Dad. Because he didn’t have any other choice. Because he was four, right? And he didn’t really get the consequences.” Vanya still looks confused. “Did you blame him for that?” Five asks.

Vanya shakes her head vigorously. “No,” she says, “Of course not. That was all Dad. Ben didn’t have a choice. Dad threatened to hurt us, remember?” Five nods. Beside The Handler, Bridget breathes out a quiet, ‘oh.’

“Allison erased your memories,” Five says, quietly, carefully. Vanya’s face goes blank and the percentage counter starts flipping backwards. “Dad made her Vanya!” The percentage counter stills at seventy-eight percent. “Dad made her, just like he made Ben kill that guy.” Vanya’s eyes, which had previously been glued to Allison’s face return to Five. As they do, the camera picks up a full view of her eyes. They are glowing white. Five doesn’t even flinch. 

“So I find out,” Vanya looks as if she is trying to control herself. Her eyes don’t flicker, but they do focus on Five as she says, “I find out, and I destroy the world? Because Dad took my powers? Because I can’t control them?”

“I – Well – Yes and no,” Five says. “You’ve found out a bunch of different ways over the years. This guy you were dating took you off your meds without permission once. Allison told you what she did in the worst of circumstances. You accidentally blew up a bomb Diego was holding once, but every time, you were talking to one of us. Why do you think that was?”

Which is when Vanya’s face goes full white, her eyes outlined in black and she hisses, “Don’t patronize me. You think I don’t have ANY understanding of myself? If what you’re saying is true, then it’s obvious Five. You make me snap. All of you! My whole life has been a lie. My whole life, I’ve been the ordinary one and because of that, I’ve been left out. I’ve been alone. I’ve been unwanted. ‘There’s simply nothing special about you,’” She taunts, “‘To go on missions, you have to have a power,’ ‘You’re a liability Vanya.’ Can you really blame me for blowing up?” Number Five reels back, reaching for a gun at his waistband, and The Handler waits for the percent clock to fall. Five leaves the gun at his waist, and the counter moves UP to ninety percent.

“And what Five? You never noticed? You’ve lived this life how many times, and you never bothered to change the way you acted toward me, never bothered to think I might be lonely, might want an umbrella tattoo, might want to be cared about and loved and wanted?” She takes a deep breath and Five interrupts.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know how many times I’ve lived my life Vanya. I might be two-hundred or two-thousand for all I know. And you’re right. It was stupid of me, to never notice that you were lonely. All those times I came back, and I didn’t notice. I’ve never been a social person, but still,” he sneers at the stupidity of his own actions. “I’ve been so stupid.”

Vanya doesn’t even look slightly mollified, but then, “But I’ll live this life again.” She blinks twice. “I’ll live this life again Vanya. I’ll go back and start over, if I have to, I’ll live those first fifteen years of my life all over again. I’ll try to make sure you don’t take those drugs. I’ll include you. I will, if that’s what you want.” Vanya blinks, and her face seems to be turning tan again. The counter clicks up to ninety-three percent.

“Then why are you here?” She asks. “Just so you don’t have to? So you don’t have to suffer all that again? So you don’t have to go through all that pain? Is that what this is, Five? One last chance to not work through your childhood again?”

“You’re a person, Vanya.” Five answers. “You’re my sister. You’ve lived a life, and the person you are now was created because of those events. That pain made you. If I go back and change all that, this you won’t exist. I wanted to give you a choice. Do you want to live the life you always wanted, to never feel that pain? Or do you want to work through that pain here? To stay, and learn to love and be loved?”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it?” Vanya asks, and the white from her eyes seems to light up the room. The rest of the Hargreeves family had retreated a long time ago. Now they press themselves into the corner. “The only reason you’ll be nice to me is because you know that otherwise I’ll end the world. You won’t really care about me. I’ll get everything I want, but it will all be a lie. Either way it will be a lie and – “

“You’re wrong,” Number Five says, crossing the room. “When I first got stuck in the future, yours was the first name I called. I love you Van. I lived all of these lives to save my family. I lived all these lives to save you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to notice. I’m so sorry. Please let me help.”

Ninety-six percent. 

“You’re lying,” Vanya says, but her voice is wavering now. “You’re lying. You don’t love me, you can’t- “

“Vanya,” the word is so quiet that the whole of the auditorium has to strain to hear it. Five looks up at his sister – how long has she been standing for? – and says, “Do you want to destroy the world?”

She freezes. The percentage counter is flipping back and forth between ninety-seven and ninety-eight percent.

And then there’s a broken sob as the girl who’s supposed to destroy the world falls to her knees. “No,” she says. “No, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorr- “ 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Five answers. Hesitantly, he lays a hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe now Vanya. I’m here.”

As Vanya looks up into Number Five’s eyes, the white glow in her own fades and then disappears. She pulls him into a tight hug.

The percentage counter hits one-hundred.


End file.
